Dies Irae
by Eureka234
Summary: The Red Templars are one of the Inquisition's many enemies. Keldon is a Templar who joins them. One shot. Cross over with "Champion's of the Just" questline from Dragon Age Inquisition.
"I want to tell my mother about it, but she is at the Maker's side. At least, that is what I used to believe."

The stories start like this. Innocent men and women who had high hopes for the world, aspirations for their family and selves, all taken away when the sky split apart. To many, the explosion at the Conclave marked the end of life as they knew it. For some, the destruction happened sooner. To others, it was a beginning.

Keldon Augustine was different. He did not know if the swirling pit of green was a beginning or an end. He was a born pessimist and nihilist, was transferred once the Starkhaven Circle perished. Little did his family appreciate that it made him perfect for the Chantry's military at seven.

When Lord Seeker Lucius announced to the White Spire dining hall that the Templar Order were re-locating to Therinfall Redoubt, there was little complaint from Keldon. The mages in the Spire had all but gone and the hall seated half of what it used to - the ones who wanted to preserve a semblance of order. The Chantries all over Thedas had been run a muck, and something had to be done to keep the divide clear.

He was in the minority who shared this opinion, judging by the uproar that followed.

"Where is Therinfall Redoubt?" muttered Fanchone from beside him, half way through a lamb chop. As much as she could label any constellation, places on the ground were more difficult to identify.

"Fereldan?" Keldon guessed, apathetic about the entire thing. It was a challenge to view Lucius from his seat, besides the general stoicism.

" _Fereldan_?!" she gaped.

"Fereldan."

That's all anyone appeared to care about – the fact they were departing Orlais for more disorganized society.

But Keldon was a pessimist. He thought both Orlais and Fereldan were useless, though he kept his negativity to himself.

* * *

The place was a decent change of scenery. It wasn't the same nauseating height as the Spire, was slightly smaller, though it had plenty of space. It didn't make the Templar Order appear anymore together. In fact, Keldon thought it was falling apart.

Fanchone burst through his unlocked door early in the fourth morning, eyes livid, her jet black hair tumbling from its plait.

"Keldon – we must leave immediately." She said hurriedly. Not even catching her breath, she marched inside and kicked the door shut.

The sweat on her face nearly lined up with the two moles on her temple.

Keldon was lying in his bed with little intention of getting up, after poor sleep.

"What's got your knickers riding up your butt?" he wondered, but he already knew the answer. He spotted the flask of red liquid in Franchone's right hand. This is what _everybody_ was talking about. It was their gossiping voices that woke Keldon at four thirty in the morning. It was the emergency that had him talking to a fellow sister now.

"Dis Red Lyrium," in her exhaustion, his friend's accent became thinker, "I swear on my Father's bones, it comes from the Black City – it is sinful and unjust! Do _not_ drink it!"

"What makes you think that?" Keldon wondered, sitting up in his bed. He'd missed breakfast deliberately, "They said it was better than the old lyrium we used to get – just like how people discover new metals and materials to improve weapons. What's wrong with that? Do you not want to win this war?"

"We are not _weapons_ , Keldon," Fanchone said huffily, her dark skin turning ashen; "We _carry_ them. We are Knights of the Maker! We are people. I cannot believe what I am hearing."

The Templar hadn't given the decision much thought. It made sense. On the assumption one was cursed with every possible side effect, taking the red made sense. It was the same decision bumbling fools made when entering the Joining. With sacrifice came a much greater purpose. Without Grey Wardens, they'd still be in a Blight. Without Red Templars, there'd always be a war. Someone had to do it. Why not him? He was already a Templar. He was part of the way there.

"If the decision isn't for you, fine," Keldon said solemnly, "I respect that, but don't go shoving your opinion down people's throats. You'll get in a fight soon if you're not careful."

There was a terrible silence. Fanchone's eyes darted around the bare room. "Are you telling me you… swallowed it?"

Keldon met his friend's eyes and nodded.

"Why?" the woman appeared hurt, "Keldon – there's no use destroying yourself in this war."

The Starkhaven man's eyebrows knitted together angrily. They agreed on most things. Why did this have to be the one they didn't?

"Do you expect to come out of this the same person?" Keldon demanded, "What do you think? You're going to look, think, and feel how you do right now when it's over? I doubt it. I already feel destroyed as it is. Bloody hell, you think my parents getting blown up weren't terrible enough? Do you want more innocents to die?"

Fanchone groaned and shut her eyes. Since the Breach, the many deaths made it easier to step on other's toes. At times, it was easy to forget what everybody's triggers were. "You – urgh. I need to go to breakfast. I am not thinking straight."

"If you want to look good to the Knight Captain," Keldon said, "Give me your flask. I'll save it. Tell them you drank it. I don't want my closest friend going back to Orlais."

The woman hesitated and came closer, but she kept her vial close to her chest, like it was a treasure, "Keldon, they will notice eventually. I do not want to lie. And… even if I agreed with your flawed reasoning, aren't you fearful of the side effects?"

The Templar shrugged, "I either get side effects from the red, or side effects of the war if I'm not strong enough to face it. I'm scared of both, but at least this one is under my control."

Fanchone's eyes shone with concern, "How do you intend to _control_ it, then?"

"Like how you – Hey, at least I know _how_ my body will get blown up, rather than it just happening from an outside party. If I die, at least it's by _my_ way of choosing, rather than a destiny forced upon me."

Fanchone gave her disbelieving look, that she did not agree with the opinion, thought it was ludicrous, but she did not argue on it anymore.

The woman finally placed the vial in Keldon's hands and the two shared a last moment of solidarity. He remembered her kindness and the many nights they spent reading to each other – for the fun of it, "May the Maker watch over you."

"He's a pile of swirling green now," the Templar said sadly.

"I think the Maker is still with us," Fanchone said, stepping away, "I send my prayers to your parents again. I will send them prayers every day, so their peace can bring you peace. I will see you later. I shall pray for that too.'

He counted every step as she walked out the door, but kept his eyes on the red liquid that sung to him.

* * *

Keldon was a pessimist, and when he heard Fanchone returned to Orlais with a number of other Templars, he stopped keeping his anarchism to himself.

Lord Seeker Lucius was a harsh leader. He had strict rules on when red lyrium was to be consumed, and no skipping doses were allowed. The stuff quite horridly tasted of metal, almost thick blood, like it belonged to an Archdemon. It was an easy factor to overlook when it reached lips. The sensations were instantaneous, a rush of heat and _confidence._ The side effects were slower, but increasingly painful. The drug affected each Templar differently, which made symptoms all the more trying when comparisons were drawn between who was cursed or blessed.

The first difference for Keldon was a mad itching on his ankles and wrists after one week. He blamed it on allergies from the Fereldan grass until the red marks from his scratching started to brighten like a burn. The skin became tough, inflexible, and placing grass on unaffected areas did nothing. Next, was the cyst on the inside of his mouth. He thought it was from stress, until it burned like acid and he spotted what looked like a charcoal rimmed welt there. Potions only numbed the pain. It never completely healed, constantly alternating between rupturing and sealing.

The nightmares and dreams he could manage better than his peers. The physical sensations distressed him the most, but there were great benefits. He had no concerns with speaking his mind. He had control. Keldon had spells more vicious and stronger than what the blue gave him. He felt, if he was in the middle of combat, he could intimidate others with this power. Maybe he wouldn't even have to fight them, they'd just run.

Keldon was one of many who had chosen to stay at Therinfal Redoubt. With others, there was still gossiping about who had left, who had remained, and the reasons for each. Never had the Templars engaged in so many philosophical discussions. Everyone had their own reasons for taking it. There was as much variety as how a person decided to spend their coin. It was a very personal, often private decision. More often than not, conversation ended quickly. Many refused to answer why they'd chosen the Red.

Keldon became friends with those who were able to explain. One of these was the bloke who came to replace Lucius once the Inquisition cut him to shreds months.

* * *

His brothers and sisters were recovering from wounds after the lengthy fight with their enemy in the Great Hall a few days ago. It had been a tough one, with many dead and even more wounded. Keldon had one of his arms burned, but he felt very little. His arm had become a series of red crystal slabs, something he could see his disjointed reflection in. The Red Templar didn't like either of the five angles. He felt disconcerted by the thinned, flat hair, a face uneven by discoloration and raised patches of glassy red, scars. The large black pupils were shared by his brothers and sisters, but they added to a disconnection to himself. The Templar stopped looking at mirrors. The red did that job for him well enough. He referred to himself by his title, a "Red Horror". It wasn't inaccurate, for evidence of _Keldon_ was almost completely gone. It was easier to pretend what he was seeing was somebody else.

He pulled away from the three reflections on his arm.

From the north entrance came the loud rattle of metal boots on wooden floorboards and a gravely bark, "Hey! Get in line! Let me look at what that Seeker git left me to train up. I'm tired. Come on!"

That wasn't the tone of a person who would forgive if someone disobeyed. All ears snapped to attention. This was the replacement. There was no doubt.

"Yes, ser!"

The time it took to get in line was a quarter of what it used to be from the Red. The power gave excellent coordination and speed. Keldon was immediately fascinated by this man, so was pleased to stand in the front. Red Templar Barris hadn't mentioned the replacements name, only that they would get one. There was a buzz in the air – who was this guy? Was he going to be any better, or worse, than Lord Seeker Lucius?

"Very good! Quicker than I woulda guessed." the man seemed incredibly happy, which was already more of a reaction than Lord Seeker Lucius had ever done. Their new superior stood proudly, hands on his hips, the warm yellow light glistening off the Templar emblem from his armour. Clearly, he was no Seeker. Neither was there anything posh or tidy about him. His slick black hair was roughly combed back, he had cuts on his chin from shaving thoughtlessly and there was mud and blood on his boots.

The thrill in the air persisted, but Keldon suspected it was from a liking rather than fear. This guy was more _their_ style, both not giving a shit but also knowing when to care.

"You're lucky you all look distinctive," it sounded like he was talking, yet his voice projected throughout the Hall, "I have a great memory for beautiful faces. Because of that blockhead's blunder, I got a lot of shit to clean. Let's make it quick, they'll be time to chat later. Give me yer names first, and one fact you want me to know – don't matter how stupid or important it is. I've got a craving for mischief. _Then_ I'll tell you about me."

 _Damn_ , Keldon was slightly irritated. He'd rather hear about the replacement first.

He was on the far left of the front line, and so he waited. Their new superior retrieved names, starting from the fourth back row, and making his way across. The Red Templars took in every detail.

Lord Seeker Lucius always started with the front row.

"Name?"

"Red Knight…"

"No. I asked yer _name_ , brother," the man said, to everyone's bewilderment, "None of this title garbage. Chin up, that's a good lad – try again."

There was a stunned pause, and then, "Lionel De Fayette, ser!"

"Lionel De Fayette," the superior repeated it with a childlike dreaminess, "Too bad my memory is piss for names. I do like them, though… a fact about you, _De Fayette_?"

The response was panicked and rapid. "I can play – erhm, _Days of Wrath -_ on piano, ser!"

"Music, eh?" the man sounded amused, "I don't know it. How does it go?"

Nervously, Lionel gave a brisk "dun dun dun" rendition of the first twenty seconds of the piece. The superior even joined in with a light sing song tone, something the Lord Seeker would never be caught dead doing.

From the corner of his eyes, Keldon glanced at smirks around the room.

"There a piano in this stronghold? I expect you to perform, brother," there was a single thump of a boot, "Name?"

"Rosamond Sault, ser!" answered a woman's voice, more confidently. The higher pitch echoed.

Like before, the man tried to pronounce the name, but butchered it carelessly, "What would you like me to know, sister?"

"In my youth I threw acorns at a person's head, ser!"

There were scattered snorts from around the Hall.

"Ah," the Templar laughed, "Do you still think they deserved it?"

"Yes, ser!"

"Your sense of conviction will serve you well," he said.

Despite their leader saying he had no time on his hands, he certainly did not give that impression. He continued around the room the same, and it was the best time Keldon ever had standing in one place. There were nervous laughs, which became more unrestrained over time, once it was evident the Templar wouldn't scold them.

After at least 20 or maybe 30 recruits, it wasn't certain; the man reached the first row. Keldon was intrigued to see the stranger's expression as he asked each person their name. It was clearer the closer he got to Keldon that the man wasn't entirely genuine. The displays of emotion were somewhat theatrical and shallow in nature, like the stranger was trying to conceal the fact he didn't feel much at all. Somehow, it still radiated an odd sense of gratitude. His skin was sickly and pale, his eyes so red it was hard to tell what colour they'd originally been, but he was still better than Lucius. Messier, but down to earth. The Seeker's replacement even had the look of a person who had once been very handsome, but it was stripped away violently.

"Only you three left," he remarked, and Keldon felt a leap of trust for the man when he didn't flinch at the sight of the red crystals and side effects. In fact, there was almost a grief in those eyes, despite the sternness of his chin and gaunt face.

"Keldon Augustine, ser," he paused, debating whether he wanted to use this fact after all, "In The White Spire I once got so sick that I projectile vomited onto the First Enchanter, ser."

There was the laughter again. Fake or not, it was still a greater display of humanity than Lord Seeker Lucius had done. That was worth a lot of respect.

Keldon knew he'd chosen the right fact about himself, even if it was more a story. He didn't pay attention to the remaining two answers, too enraptured by the laugh. This guy was more _Keldon's_ style.

When their leader stood again in front of them, silence fell; one more tense than when he'd arrived. The room would hang on his every word.

"My name is Samson, but I am your General, so you forget my name. To you, I am ' _General',_ Samson or brother, if I permit it. If you're generous enough with grog or disingenuous flattery. You do not need to know anything about me, I am not nearly as rich with history as you, but I'll indulge you, brothers and sisters." He took out his sword. It was a gigantic, majestic thing of red, gold and bone, "I am like you. I used to have my fun mucking about and making Thedas proud. I've touched and extinguished souls. I have taken so much lyrium it has destroyed everything I had and knew, but once I gave myself to its glory, it made me newer and stronger. It's song, choir, whatever - showed me power. It led me to you, so we can stand united under a New Order."

A pause, to which Samson scanned the room in seconds, "There is ambitious work to do - a tough slog, but it'll be worth it, friends. We will show the Chantry what it left behind – its best and most faithful, the ones who deserve to rule it."

With his concentration alone the General made his sword glow, "It is the center of the Chantry's heart that will burn, the same ways ours did. We'll expose its rotten core with our horrors and regrets, and the New Order will take its rightful, just place."

It ended on a sad node, like a eulogy, but Samson's voice still projected effortlessly around the room. It didn't stop the patriarchy reply of, "Yes, General!"

It didn't stop Keldon from wanting to clap.

It didn't stop the humming in the Hall, radiating from Samson's sword and galvanizing presence.

Keldon had made the right decision taking the Red Lyrium, for before he was not treated with respect with the blue. There was a sense of order in the White Spire, but not companionship and trust from superiors. The Spire was chaotic and disorganized. The Red Templars were reckless but systematized, controlled and prevailing. The Chantry never knew how to manage disarray. The Red Templars embraced it, and by doing so, they ceased to become anarchy, but something greater than the original, taking the finest from both.

Above all, there was no fear. The Red Templars had made their choice, and they had chosen wisely, for General Samson was their leader, and he knew their suffering as his own.

The General had found his pride within annihilation, and he'd help them find it too.

Keldon Augustine wasn't sure if the Breach marked an ending or a beginning. Unlike before, he was starting to believe it was both.

* * *

 _Author's Notes:_ The title refers to the Mozart piece by the same name, which means "Day of Wrath". I intended to make this crossover with redpurpleblack's Samson/Calpernia (Salpernia) stories, but it felt more appropriate to end the one shot here. Maybe I'll continue? Who knows. I wrote this in a few hours so I hope you enjoyed it!


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